


9 Crimes

by StarMaamMke



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, F/M, Infidelity, NSFW, Smut, Tumblr, stranger things big bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 03:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10845330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaamMke/pseuds/StarMaamMke
Summary: Joyce’s eccentricity was a naturally accepted fact, like water being wet, and no one blamed her for being even more skittish, even more changeable now that her son had come back from the dead; it was the reporters at her door that drew resentment. Hawkins had become a media circus of PT Barnum proportions. Hawkins was sleepy. Hawkins was quiet. Hawkins did not appreciate being invaded by the Big Three Networks. Neither did Joyce, but no one really cared to ask her what she thought.“Don’t. Do. An. Interview,” Familiar Territory begged as she removed his belt. They were standing next to his bed, and she appreciated the clean scent coming from the linens, the fact that he had finally taken a vacuum to the carpet.





	9 Crimes

**Author's Note:**

> My entry to the Stranger Things Big Bang on tumblr (stbigbang). 
> 
> Title and lyrics from the song “9 Crimes” by Damien Rice
> 
> Art by crystalkei (@cupcakesandtv)
> 
> Beta: Madam_Ashley (@dutifullymadameashley)

 

 

Nine Crimes 

By 

StarMaamMke 

________________

_Leave me out with the waste_

_This is not what I do_

_It's the wrong kind of place_

_To be thinking of you_

_________________

Joyce Byers was treading both water and familiar territory; it occurred to her that one probably had to do with the other. People had always thought that she was a bit off, a tad frail. Even as a young girl, she had been intense: bookish and small, keeping to the shadows and prone to bouts of moody silence.

Joyce’s eccentricity was a naturally accepted fact, like water being wet, and no one blamed her for being even more skittish, even more changeable now that her son had come back from the dead; it was the reporters at her door that drew resentment. Hawkins had become a media circus of PT Barnum proportions. Hawkins was sleepy. Hawkins was quiet. Hawkins did not appreciate being invaded by the Big Three Networks. Neither did Joyce, but no one really cared to ask her what she thought.

“Don’t. Do. An. Interview,” Familiar Territory begged as she removed his belt. They were standing next to his bed, and she appreciated the clean scent coming from the linens, the fact that he had finally taken a vacuum to the carpet.

“Have you ever tried raising two kids on one income?” Joyce knelt to unbutton and push jeans and boxers from his hips. The answer to her rhetorical question was a soft moan and a curse. The time for rational discussion ended the moment she took his cock into her mouth. What followed was frantic and wordless. He reciprocated her generosity with a skilled tongue and strong fingers, and she tasted herself on his lips when they came together at last, the two of them testing the durability of his ancient bed frame as they moved together like it was the last time.

He collapsed at her side when it was over. His strong, broad back was pale and etched with angry scratch marks, but he made no comment on that as he pulled her close against the hot, sweaty length of him. The wiry hairs on his forearms itched against her sides, making her squirm. “Sorry, I know you don’t much like cuddling.” He rolled onto his back and fixed his bright blue gaze on the ceiling.

“Not in the summer, and not until you spring for an air-conditioner.”

“I just installed one in your house. We could always go there for our quiet time.”

Joyce turned her head to glare at him. “I have two boys. Quiet time doesn’t exist in my house.”

“Point taken. The boys like me, right?”

Joyce frowned and sat up. “Why do you care if the boys like you?”

He grew visibly pale and took a deep breath. “Nevermind.”

She nodded and gave an inward sigh of relief. The longer they went without unpacking what was going on between them, the better. A part of her knew that he was baiting her with forced nonchalance, but she was too tired to rise to the challenge.

“I have to go.”

He returned to the previous subject as she collected her clothes from the floor. “I can make sure you’re taken care of.”

Her shirt and jeans tumbled from nerveless arms. “What?”

“The interviews. If you are thinking about doing them because of money, I can make sure that isn’t a problem. There are people who would be very...upset if you talked to a reporter.”

While Jim Hopper had never mentioned it, Joyce always had a suspicion that his deal with the Department of Energy ran a little deeper than he let on. There was cagey and then there was militantly reticent. Jim stonewalled her any time she tried to ask him about what he had given up, what he was doing on the mysterious “vacations” he kept going off on, for few days or a week.  

It was shocking that he was even dangling this tidbit of information in front of her, but Joyce wasn’t planning on doing an interview anyway. The very thought of such scrutiny terrified her - Hopper must have blocked out that time when she had puked in front of their civics class during a mock debate - and besides, she studiously avoided bringing any unwanted attention to her deeply traumatized children.

“I don’t want their money.” Annoyance rose up in her chest, and the feeling winded her. She suddenly wanted to be far, far away from Jim’s trailer. He was working for _those_ people. The same ones who had stolen a woman’s baby and then scrambled her brains for good measure.

Joyce dressed with hastiness and left without giving Hopper a kiss or a goodbye. An inner monologue - really just the words ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ repeated over and over again - raced through her mind, a question that continued to haunt her for the remainder of the day.

It didn’t help that business was slow at the General Store. They didn’t get a lot of traffic on game days, and Joyce was the only cashier on staff, leaving her with a lot of time to get stuck in her own head.

If she could have a do-over, she probably should have skipped Karen Wheeler’s birthday party earlier that year. That’s where the whole mess began. Or was it the coffee meetups at The Grind? No. There was no romance over coffee, just stabs at normalcy with the only person who understood the things she had seen. They hadn’t even talked about the...Other Hawkins is what Joyce called it. The Upside Down seemed so childish. It was how Will and the boys coped with the whole mess. Her and Jim’s experiences were different.

In any case, Joyce accepted the invitation to Karen’s birthday party, as she always had done, year after year. Karen arranged it so that her friends with children could get said progeny out of their hair for a night. This year, Nancy and Steve were chaperoning a trip to a nearby amusement park. Hotel rooms had even been purchased and Karen and Ted refused to take any form of payment from the Sinclairs, the Hendersons or Joyce.

Hopper had been invited, as he had every single year since his move back to Hawkins. Karen had immediately got it into her head that he and Joyce ought to rekindle things but after nearly a decade of invites, this was the first time that he’d actually made an appearance.

Joyce stepped into the Wheeler’s den and there he was - leaning against Ted’s bar, nursing a tumbler of whiskey. His beard and hair had clearly been trimmed for the occasion, and his blue flannel looked new, and matched his eyes. She hated how quickly she made these observations, but she also loved the way his eyes raked over her when she came into view.

She was not dressed like “Frumpy Single Mom” Joyce. Her hair was pulled away from her face and held back with tortoiseshell combs, her makeup subtle but for dark red lipstick. She was wearing an emerald green cocktail dress which was several seasons out of fashion, but well taken care of. She didn't have many occasions to wear party clothes, so the ones she owned showed little sign of wear.

Jim mixed her a drink with a contented smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

“What could you possibly be grinning about?” Joyce asked, sipping the exquisitely crafted Dark and Stormy.  

“You in your green dress, Miss Calloway.”

Joyce blushed. She had not been referred to by her maiden name in years, and he said it in a soft, mocking Irish accent.

“Oh, is it that time already?” Karen Wheeler inquired as she scurried over from the other end of the room, her drink sloshing onto the floor in her haste. She shot a grin at Leah Henderson and Martha Sinclair, who were exchanging puzzled glances. Karen had gotten a good headstart on drinking.

“The Auld Triangle!” Karen cried, drawing the attention of the party over to Joyce and Jim.

Joyce’s neck and face felt like fire. “I just got here, Karen. You know I don't sing unless I'm drunk enough to forget it the next day.”

Ted hastily poured a shot of whiskey and pushed it towards her, just as Jim placed his own tumbler into her free hand. Joyce rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Aw, come on. I’ve only heard ever about this. Lucas always got whiny and homesick by the time you were ready to sing at the other parties,” Martha complained.

“She’s good. Like the voice of t’angels, wee Joyce has.”

“Oh, shut up, Hop.”

“Do you remember when we were in school, and I let that dork, Bob Newby, come to one of my parties, and he followed you around for months after hearing you-”

“Karen, that’s not nice. Bob was my friend and he was a sweet boy!”

“That moon-faced schlub? Didn’t I end up taking him behind the school and breaking his nose?” Jim asked, taking his whiskey back from Joyce.

“That was Lonnie. You didn’t have the heart to beat up poor Bob. Also he used to do your algebra homework with you after I told him you needed help, you ass.”

“I think he was the only guy your dad ever liked,” Karen pointed out.

“Hey! He liked me.”

“Oh, come on, Hop. Mr. Calloway called you ‘worse than Cromwell’ and he told Joyce that she was killing him the day she married Lonnie.” Karen shot a sly grin at Joyce. “Bob was a good Catholic boy. He went to Catechism and everything. Joyce and I used to copy his homework.”

“Well, that’s nice, Karen, but it was my understanding that Joyce was going to sing us a song,” Hank Sinclair remarked with a broad grin, putting an arm around his diminutive wife. Martha was beaming with expectation.

“I forgot how-”

“Let me help you. I subbed for a History of Folk class at Indiana State-”

“And thank you for falling on that sword for me. 8am classes and Bob Dylan…” Martha shuddered.

Hank chuckled, cleared his throat and belted out in a reasonably strong tenor:

_A hungry feeling, came o'er me stealing_

_And the mice were squealing in my prison cell_

_And the auld triangle, went jingle jangle_

_All along the banks of the Royal Canal_

Joyce, who had finished her shot and taken a quick pull of Jim’s whiskey, moved to stand next to Hank. Her voice was a rich alto with only the hint of a nervous quaver:

_To begin the morning, a screw was bawling_

_Get up you bowsie, and clean up your cell…_

She knew he was staring at her as she sang. His was the only voice in the room that did not join in during the song, but she felt his gaze burning against her face. She chanced a sideways glance and was caught off guard by the intensity in his expression. His cerulean eyes were drowsy and fixed on her lips, but when he registered her looking at him, he grinned sheepishly and lent his rusty baritone to the song, expressing his regret over not being in the prison with seventy-five women with a gusto that made everyone in the party chuckle knowingly. When it was over, he pulled her into a warm embrace.

Joyce could not help but tremble in his arms, feeling the heat emanating through layers of clothes. She reveled in how solid and strong his chest and arms were and gave a little sigh when he kissed the top of her head as released her.

“I almost forgot how much I loved hearing you sing,” he mumbled. The admission staggered Joyce, and silenced the laughter and chatter of the group around them. Jim cleared his throat, a blush creeping up his neck and across his cheeks. He searched Joyce’s eyes for a moment, and finding nothing there but stunned disbelief, he excused himself and left the party.

“Well!” Karen exclaimed softly. Joyce looked at her friend with bewildered eyes. Karen raised an eyebrow and nodded in the direction that Jim had fled.

He had just made it to his Blazer when Joyce caught up with him in the driveway. He seemed astonished that she followed him and was just opening his mouth to ask ‘why’ when she placed both hands on his shoulders, and strained onto her tiptoes. She was too short to do exactly what she wanted, and ended up pressing her lips against his bristly chin before losing her balance. He threw his arms around her, giving her the boost she needed to kiss him hard on the mouth.

Her arms slid around his shoulders and his hands drifted to grasp at her satin-covered ass, pulling her tight against his body, deepening their connection. Joyce moaned as his tongue slid over hers and she responded in kind, increasing the intensity of their embrace. _This is bad, this is bad, this is bad,_ went her brain’s treacherous mantra, but she brushed it off by nipping at his lower lip and bringing her legs up around his waist.

“I'll bring you back to get your car tomorrow if you want to come home with me tonight,” he murmured between frantic kisses, as he pressed her against the driver's side door of his truck. In response, she wrapped her legs tighter around his waist and rocked her hips against his erection.

They sped towards Jim’s trailer, Joyce’s hand skimming a path from the driver’s knee, to his thigh. He took one hand from the wheel and placed it over hers, guiding it to the impressive bulge in his jeans. She gave it a squeeze, eliciting a sharp intake of breath.

“Not trying to take you in the back of my truck like a horny teenager, but I'll have to pull over if you keep touching me like that, sweetheart.”

He gave her a quick glance and she shot him a sly grin.

“We're almost there,” she sighed, removing her wandering hand.

In the end, they only made it as far as the couch. They coupled with urgency, Joyce straddling him as he sat upright on the sofa, both partially clothed. Her panties and nylons were on the ground near his feet; his jeans and boxers were in a pool around his ankles. She rode him until she felt him shudder and give a guttural cry that was muffled by the bare bit of shoulder his mouth had been worshipping. Under ordinary circumstances, Joyce would have felt bad about reaching a messy completion on someone else’s living room furniture, but his couch was easily eighty percent duct tape.

As Joyce reminisced about that first encounter three months prior, she recalled the way Jim gently cupped her face after they were both spent. The way he pressed slow, lazy kisses against her swollen lips and brushed her hair away from her tired eyes before letting her fall asleep against his shoulder. He must have carried her to bed that night, because she did not remember getting up from the couch. She had woken with him lying beside her, too unsure to commit to a spooning position, but close enough that she could feel the heat of him.

“Penny for ‘em.”

Joyce gave a start when she realized there was a customer in her checkout lane. He was staring at her with puppyish brown eyes, a round, open face and a big grin. Although taller than her by several inches, he was a bit on the short side, no more than 5’7”, if that.

“Do I know…” Joyce trailed off as she was hit with realization. “Oh, wow. Bob Newby?”

Bob nodded, his grin widening. “Yup!”

“My friends and I were talking about you three months ago. What a coincidence!” _We were making fun of him three months ago,_ echoed the disapproving voice in Joyce’s head.

Bob chuckled. “All good things, I hope.”

“Uh-huh,” she affirmed, hoping that he didn’t notice the desperate little pitch in her voice. Joyce had always been a terrible liar.

Bob unloaded his cart onto the conveyer belt, and Joyce began to ring him up. There were a lot of DIY purchases; tools, nails, screws, tape, drawer lining and a few rolls of wallpaper.

“Did you just move back?”Joyce asked, genuinely curious.

Bob nodded with undisguised eagerness. “I’m actually opening up a Radio Shack on Main. I’ll move into a house once I’m more established, but right now I’m fixing up the apartments above the store. Living in the bigger one.”

“That’s nice. You and Stacey Polley still together?”

Bob blushed a deep crimson. “I suppose you stopped getting updates on me when your dad passed. No, we almost made it to the altar, but it didn’t work out. It’s going to be just me and my two cats.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Stacey was nice.”

“She’s still nice. Married too. Say, are you still with-”

“Divorced,” Joyce stated firmly. “He ran off one time too many.”

“Now that I am sorry to hear. Your boys must be pretty big by now.”

Joyce nodded. “Oh yes. Outgrowing all of their clothes and eating everything in sight.”

She read off the total and he handed her two twenty dollar bills. She noticed that his hand trembled a bit when it brushed hers during the transaction.

“It must be nice. Having kids. Except for, you know, that thing with...” Bob’s eyes dropped to the floor as he trailed off.

Joyce shrugged. “With Will, you mean?”

“Is he…?”

“He’s fine. We all just want to put that behind us.” She winced at her own curtness.

“I’m sorry. I hope it didn’t seem like I was p-p-prying.” He still stutters when he was nervous, Joyce noted, finding it slightly endearing, even as the tiniest bit of spittle hit her cheek when he struggled with the plosive ‘p’. Sweet, moon-faced Bob. Good Irish-Catholic boy and burgeoning entrepreneur. She gave him a soft smile as she bagged up his purchases.

“Don’t worry about it Bob. It will be nice to have a friendly face around here. Welcome back.” She reached out and touched his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Th-thanks.” He inhaled sharply and took the bags from her. “Even if you couldn’t remember me at first, I just wanted you to know that I’d recognize you anywhere, Joyce Mae.”

She found herself smiling when he left. He had always been so sweet. _And sweet on you_ , a teasing inner voice reminded her.

She was absently singing along with the radio when Bob walked into the store again, two hours later.

_______________________

_It's the wrong time_

_For somebody new_

_It's a small crime_

_And I've got no excuse_

______________________

  


Jim Hopper’s greatest fear was the prospect of falling asleep without the aid of something to ward of his dreams. His nocturnal ruminations were not a good place to be: Sarah and the hell of reliving her final moments every time he closed his eyes; Vietnam trapping him in a hyper-realistic prison of guns, helicopters, screaming, burning flesh; the Dark Man of his childhood nightmares, an impossibly long shadow that would chase him through rapidly changing scenery, long arms stretching towards him with grasping claws. Jim would wake in a puddle of sweat and piss, screaming and unable to move as the figure hovered inches from his face, fading as Jim regained the use of his limbs, an occurrence that Diane’s fancy psych book identified as sleep paralysis.

All of his old dreams melded together into one giant hellscape of horrors. Now he ran through humid jungles, icy forests and hospital corridors, grasping his daughter’s cold hand all the while. Sometimes pursued by the creature that had taken Will and countless others, sometimes pursued by a man - in a suit or a lab coat, with a softly jeering voice and deceptively golden features. At times Sarah was glowing with health, at others he had to pull her greying, rotting body along, looking away as she fell apart bit by bit.

On occasion, it was Eleven holding his hand. When he opened his eyes, all of his various demons stood around his bed, staring with black eyes, oozing with various wounds. The Monster, those killed in combat, Brenner, Eleven, Sarah...even Benny was there, the hole in his head festering, his eyes leaking with tears. Jim supposed he’d cry too if his best friend wound up working for the assholes who’d had him killed.

Tonight, a frantic pounding at his front door cut through his desperate screams. The sound was real, and it caused the spectres around his bed to explode in a haze and fade back into the darkness of his room.

“Jim! Jim, let me in!” His felt his heart in his throat when he realized that it was Joyce at the door, sounding as though she was bordering on hysterics. He leapt from the bed and ran down the hall to his front door, flinging it open to let in his terror-stricken-... whatever-she-was into his home.

“Joyce are you-”

Joyce pushed past him and began to look around. She was short of breath, but her eyes were burning with purpose. “Where is it? Are you okay? Did -” She turned back to him, and he felt her eyes taking him in. He was naked but for a pair of navy blue boxers. She furrowed her brow. “Why were you screaming? You scared me half to death!”

Now it was Jim’s turn to be confused. She rarely came out to his home so late in the evening, and if she did, it was arranged, not sprung on him.

“I had a bad dream.”

She blinked in surprise, and her features softened with sympathy. He noticed that she was wearing an oversized NYU sweatshirt, short, blue terry cloth shorts, and white Keds with mismatched socks. She hadn’t bothered to tie the laces, and her auburn hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. After crawling out of the abyss that was his nightmares, she was a welcome sight. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“Me too. The boys are both off with their friends because it’s the weekend and I didn’t…I didn’t want to be alone.”

She came because she knew that he would understand what the dreams were about without having to explain. She wanted comfort without the need to delve too deep into what was haunting her.

“Do you want to lie down? The room is a mess, but the sheets are clean.”

To be honest, the whole house was a mess. Joyce had not communicated with him since the day she turned down Department money over a week ago, and he had sunk into a bit of a depression. He knew the conversation had rankled her, and he wished that they were in a place where they could have talked it out. But they were just fucking, as far as he knew. He wanted more, but his connections to _those_ people made the situation less than ideal. He wanted all of her, but he had no idea if she felt the same and was too terrified to even broach the subject. Losing her completely would be the worst thing he could do, and pushing for more seemed a sure-fire way for that to happen. A fragment of Joyce was better than no Joyce at all, he often told himself, as though it were somehow true.

Joyce nodded. “Will you come to bed with me?”

_I’ll go to Hell with you if you want me to. Just give me the word. A sign. Any sort of sign that this is more than just..._ “Yeah.”

She crawled into bed and he did the same. She lay as she always did; on her side, facing away from him, knees bent and pulled near her chest. Her arms curled up in front of her, hands bawled into fists as though she were preparing to fight in her sleep. A cold snap had infiltrated the otherwise balmy summer, and Jim pulled a well-worn afghan over her tense form. She turned onto her back as he did so, staring up at him with a stricken expression. Her eyes were wet and shining with unshed tears and she was gnawing on her bottom lip. He was by her side in an instant, pulling her into his arms as he lay on his back. He felt a dampness on his shoulder as he held her, and she was trembling like a dead leaf in an autumn wind.

“Sweetheart, what is it?” he asked, cringing at his clumsy use of the endearment. It was too much, too fast. He was showing his hand, he was going to lose…

Her warm tear-tinged mouth was soon on his and all thoughts of abandonment, all of his gnawing insecurities and fears melted away with the sensation of her lips against his. He brought a hand to rest against her cheek, stroking the delicate shell of her ear as her gentle kisses developed  a dizzying intensity that caused him to cling to her with a greedy neediness. This tiny enigma - this goddess - wanted him and at that moment he didn’t care if it was for a night or an eternity.

 

“It’s nothing, just fuck me,” she murmured against his ear before kissing a pattern down the side of his neck. She reached down and took his other hand, bringing it under her sweatshirt to rest over one soft breast. His fingers found an already erect nipple, and he covered her whimper with a slow, consuming kiss.

“Twist my arm, why don’t you?” he joked half-heartedly. It was an interesting combination: the heavenly feeling of her lips, her small, fine-boned hand drifting down to grasp at his already throbbing erection in sharp contrast with the sickening feeling brought on by her verbal request.

_Just fuck me._

Something was haunting her, something was making her cry, and he would tear that something apart with his bare hands if she’d only tell him what it was - but that wasn’t what she wanted.

God, he was an idiot. Here she was, throwing herself at him, touching him the way he liked to be touched, and he was whining about whether or not his fuck-buddy liked him in that “special way.”

“Touch me,” Joyce urged, pushing down the waistband of her shorts. Jim nipped at her lower lip before gently pushing her onto her back. He hovered over her, keeping his weight on his elbows to keep from crushing her. His lips ghosted over her cheek, the corners of her smiling, kiss-bruised mouth, drifting over her jawline and tasting the smoothness of her neck before resting on her suprasternal notch.

“I don’t have patience for your weird obsession with my neck,” she gasped with a small grin.

“Just this part,” he countered, caressing the little dip with a reverent forefinger.

Joyce rolled her eyes and pulled her sweatshirt over her head, throwing the gray garment across the room, knocking an empty beer can off of the top of his dresser. Her grin widened as focus drifted from her throat to her breasts.

“These are nice too,” he remarked, bending low to capture one nipple in his mouth to bite and suckle. His hand came up to caress the other breast, and her back arched under his ministrations, her hand stroking the back of his neck as she moaned softly.

“Touch me,” she begged.

“Where?” he inquired, allowing his free hand to drift down to rest on her flat tummy. “Here?” His fingers traced swirling patterns against her flesh.

“No,” she whimpered. He drew a little cry from her as his lips closed over her nipple once more. His fingers played with the elastic waist of her shorts before they dipped inside. She was drenched, he realized with giddy satisfaction.

“Why, Joyce, you seem to have forgotten your panties, you dirty girl.”

“You’ll have to give me a bath.”

He chuckled at the boldness of her request. Neither of them were much for dirty talk, he mostly just followed the language of her body and the occasional tersely phrased direction to figure out what she wanted and how she wanted it. This new banter was interesting, and more than a little thrilling. He was painfully hard, and wanted nothing more than to slide into her and fuck her until she screamed, but…

“You’re goddamn right.”

She was a quivering mess by the time he finished worshipping the exquisite center of her with his mouth and enthusiastic tongue. The scent of her clung to his face and beard, and she sucked the essence from his strong fingers before opening her mouth to accept his tongue. After a few moments of this, he reached over to the nightstand on her side of the bed. She placed a hand on his forearm and lifted the other in front of her face to reveal a condom pinched between her forefinger and thumb.

“Stealthy,” he complimented, taking it from her and sheathing himself. He gave her still trembling thighs a soothing caress before entering her with a swift sort of ease, rocking his hips in a steady, slow motion. _We have all the time in the world. We’re making jokes, and she’s so beautiful, and she came to me. We have all the time in the world…_ She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him tightly against her before commanding that he fuck her harder. He obliged, causing his overtaxed bed to shake and creak. Her hands moved to caress his back, and something primal overtook him in that moment.

“Put them over your head,” he ordered forcefully.

A flush crawled from Joyce’s chest to the top of her cheekbones and she complied, flicking out her tongue to wet her lower lip. He pinned her wrists down against the mattress and began to thrust in earnest, fueled by her increasingly desperate cries. He would not last long, judging from his reaction to the rise and fall of her hips meeting his increasingly erratic rhythm. It was fine; he really could rest on his laurels with this one. He had given her what she wanted and now he could let go, which he did, with a hoarse cry and her name on his lips.

To his surprise, she snuggled up to his side after he rolled away from her. He smiled as her slender fingers caressed the side of his neck, idly playing at the scruff he had neglected to trim. Her breath came out in warm little puffs against his chest. He stroked her back as their breathing calmed.

“I was going to offer you a night cap, but this seems as good a sleep aid as any,” Jim yawned as she grew heavy against his side.

“You always know the right thing to say, Joyce.”

She was already asleep. He was too tired to chuckle, but it did amuse him, the way she always seemed to fall straight to sleep after sex. He followed her shortly after, and the rest of the night was dreamless and serene.

____________________________

_L_ _eave me out with the waste_

_This is not what I do_

_It's the wrong kind of place_

_To be cheating on you_

______________________

  
  
  
  


Joyce woke to the sun glaring in her face through the wide window of Jim’s bedroom. The air was too warm to require the afghan covering her, so she shucked it off, looking around groggily. Jim was still snoring at her side, and she cursed her weakness, gasping loudly when she saw the time on the clock. Her noise jerked her bedmate out of his slumber and she suddenly found herself pinned beneath him, his wild eyes pacing the room, his breathing heavy - defensive against an invisible foe.

“Jim, get off! Nothing is wrong, I just slept in!” She placed a soothing hand to his chest, and felt his heart drumming a frantic beat. “Jim?” The frenzied look was not leaving his eyes, and she realized that he was still partially asleep. “Jim, I’m here. You’re safe. We’re both safe.”

He softened as he became more aware of his surroundings, and sat up, covering his face with his hands. “Jesus Christ, Joyce. I’m so sorry.”

Joyce took a deep breath. “It’s okay.” She stood and began to grab her clothes.

“You’re not late for work, are you?”

Seeing his concerned face, Joyce felt her insides twist. She tried to shake off the feeling. “No. I have the day off - ”

“Then stay. I’ll make breakfast.”

Fuck. His smile was so hopeful and his eyes were so kind. The feelings she was trying to ignore were beginning to creep through the cracks of her life.

“I can’t. I’m meeting someone for coffee.”

Jim nodded. “Well, tell Karen hello.”

That ought to have been her out. He didn’t have to know everything. She would do this thing, try it on for size, and see if it felt good and normal, and the two of them could just move on with their lives. But there was omission, and then there was lying, and Joyce hated lying more than anything.

“Bob Newby, actually.”

A pin could have dropped. Joyce stood in Jim’s bedroom, trembling slightly as she tried to gauge his reaction. His eyes were fixed on hers and she caught a brief flicker of pain cross his features before the ghost of a smile perked up the corners of his mouth; it did not reach his eyes.

“I forgot he was back in town.”

“Yep.”

More silence. Joyce noticed a muscle in Jim’s cheek twitch before his smile widened and he emitted a short bark of laughter.

“Hey, good luck.”

She couldn’t tell whether or not he was being sarcastic. She recalled the way he had derided Bob at Karen’s party, and considered firing back a retort. Something in his mirthless blue eyes gave her pause and she could not shake the feeling that she had wounded him.

“It’s- it’s coffee.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s the first-... it’s the first coffee, Hop.”

“Well, alright. You’d better get going then.”

She dressed in the bathroom because she couldn’t bear another second in his bedroom, dealing with the unspoken tension that had risen between the two of them. It wasn’t supposed to feel this bad. She wasn’t supposed to be splashing water on her face to temper the fire coursing through her veins. Jim didn’t want anything serious. He didn’t. He would have said so.

She certainly didn’t want anything. Not with him. Not with all the danger and uncertainty that came with being his…

She tried to ignore the sounds of glass shattering from inside his trailer as she started her car. A figment of her imagination, she decided.

**********

Coffee was nice. Bob was nice. The knots in Joyce’s stomach began to unwind as she sipped her drink and reminisced with her old friend. She even laughed from time to time, and the sound wasn’t false.

“That was a silly thing you said, about being able to recognize me anywhere. I barely recognize myself when I look in the mirror nowadays.”

Bob sat back and gave her an astonished look. “Are you kidding me? Joyce, we’re old. Every last one of us. But you look…” he trailed off and blushed furiously, his face a distinct tomato red. “You’re still the most beautiful woman in Hawkins.”

It was cheesy, and Joyce knew it - but it was sweet. The little safe place she had constructed for her and Jim to wallow in - their mutual misery - seemed further and further away in the face of Bob’s bland, amiable, sweet normalcy.

Still, she snorted at the compliment.

“That was s-stupid of me, wasn’t it?” Bob’s face deepened in color and his eyes fixed on the lid of his coffee. “It was. You j-just agreed to coffee, n-not a date. I’ll s-stop embarrassing myself now.” He stood.

“Wait! Don’t go, Bob. It just took me off guard is all. A divorcee with two kids - I’m not really used to compliments nowadays.” But even as she said it, Jim’s voice hissed in her ear. _Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking hot, Joyce, I never want to leave this bed when you’re in it._

“I forgot how pretty you blush when you’re flustered,” Bob remarked, sitting back down.

Joyce gave a nervous laugh. “Stop. But obviously, go on. A girl could get used to this.”

_____________

_It's the wrong time_

_But she's pulling me through_

_It's a small crime_

_And I've got no excuse_

__________________________

  


Of course the town caught wind of Joyce’s new relationship immediately. It was a small town, and nothing provided a much needed shot in the arm more than hearing about the resident looney’s romance.

Jim began volunteering for the lab’s more dangerous “clean-up” missions. Given that his new boss, Dr. Owens, absolutely hated him, those missions were fairly easy to come by. Disappearances around the perimeter of the town? Jim was on it. Creature sightings as far out as Bloomington. On it. It seemed ridiculous to think that he was pining, but here it was.

That being said, his bed was far from empty. His travelling engagements provided Jim with ample opportunity to meet new people. Under no circumstance were these dalliances permitted to know his name, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t really want to know them, to have them know him.

As a pleasant surprise, he and Joyce continued to have coffee together. The physical aspect of their relationship was over, but she still sought the company of a fellow traveller.   


He obliged because he was stupid. He asked about her and Bob because he was a masochist. Joyce would stammer over details, and offer him vagaries, but he could read between the lines. Will liked him, Jonathan was suspicious of him - even after Bob fixed his stereo receiver.

The blush in her cheeks told him that they were fucking, which made him clutch his palms bloody ever time he thought about it.

“The reporters still haven’t gone away,” Joyce confessed with a heavy sigh.

“I saw that you and Bob made the cover of the _Inquirer._ ”

“‘Boy Who Came Back to Life Has a Daddy Figure’? Ugh. I wish they’d just leave. Don’t they have an Elvis to catch?”

Jim chuckled, realizing that he had finally driven to conversation to where it needed to be. “The lab has a solution.”

Joyce frowned. “Oh boy.”

Jim fished inside his shirt pocket and produced a piece of folded up paper. Joyce plucked it from his hand with a leery expression.

“It’s a story.”

“Oh?”

“It’s your story. The one they approved for you. Sorry that it took so long for them to put it together. They have their hands full with...they’re busy people.”

Joyce offered it back. “I don’t want anything to do with them.”

“They’re offering you your privacy.”

Jim pushed the offending document toward her, but Joyce slapped at his hand, dropping the sheet on the table.

“Everything on that paper is a lie!” Her voice was getting loud and angry.

“Shhhh! Are you fucking crazy?” Jim hissed. He realized his mistake immediately, his words draining all the color from Joyce’s cheeks. She pressed her lips into an angry line and glared at him. Shame clawed at his insides when he saw the tears in her dark brown eyes.

“Joyce, I’m sorry.”

She ground the heel of her hand against the corner of one teary eye and sniffed.

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

Joyce stood and shrugged.

“I have to go and get ready for that thing tonight.”

Jim groaned, remembering that the police department - with no input from him, of course - had decided to hold a special ceremony in honor of his role in locating Will Byers. There were going to be speeches, and the kid had even written his own. It was going to be a fucking shitshow, held at the Elk Lodge, a place that Jim hadn’t set foot in since he was a kid falling asleep during his grandpa’s retirement party. Joyce was going to be there, probably with Bob. Everything was pain.

“See you there?”

Another indifferent shrug from Joyce. She gave another sniff that cut Jim to the core. He had hurt her and she was fighting it so hard. Everyone thought she was crazy. Jim wasn’t everyone. This was the basis of her trust in him. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Joyce, don’t leave angry.” He stood and reached out to touch her on the shoulder, but she shrugged him off and stormed away.

He followed, catching up to her outside of the diner. The parking lot was nearly empty. Not many people pounded coffee past 5pm, but not many people were Jim or Joyce.

“It would be really nice if you would just fuck off, Hop,” Joyce intoned, one hand on the handle of her driver’s side door. She was looking away as she said this, her eyes were fixed on the inside of her car, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

“I’m an idiot. I’m such an idiot, but I am _begging_ you to let me make it up to you.”

“You were the only one who never -” her voice broke, and she covered her mouth with a shaky hand.

Jim stepped forward and tried once more to touch her shoulder. She didn’t pull away, she was too busy trying to stem the tide of her tears.

“Joyce.”

“Bob doesn’t count. He doesn’t know me. He’s too kind and good to really look at me. All he sees is high school, and I hate it but he -”

He didn’t want to hear about Bob any more, so he pulled her into his arms. She stiffened for a moment and then relaxed against his chest, bringing her arms up to wrap around his waist. His hand came up to stroke her hair as she wept.

“I wasn’t thinking. I’m an asshole, Joyce, but I don’t think you’re crazy. Just tell me what to say… please stop crying.” He buried his face in her hair and breathed. She smelled like apples and fabric softener. The scent imprinted onto his memory, where it would stay.

“I love you, Joyce.” It slipped out without warning, without him even realizing it, and she pulled away, looking up at him with bewildered, red-rimmed eyes.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Uhhh…” The situation had gone completely fubar. He could have said a million other things to her that weren’t that exact fucking thing. He looked up at the sky, seeing if it had gotten dark, if an obliging lightning bolt would crash down and kill him dead. But the sky was as blue as ever.

“I’m with Bob.”

“I know.”

“Well…” she trailed off, frowning as she tried to finish her thought. “I have that thing tonight.” She opened the car door, stepped inside, and started the car.

“See you there.”

She drove off, leaving him to ponder the logistics of kicking himself in the dick.

_________________________

_Is that alright?_

_Give my gun away when it's loaded_

_Is that alright?_

_If you don't shoot it how am I supposed to hold it_

_Is that alright?_

_Give my gun away when it's loaded_

_Is that alright_

_Is that alright with you?_

___________________________

“Mom you look so pretty!” Will exclaimed as Joyce stepped into the living room.

She shook her head with a derisive snort, even though she’d had the same thought when she looked at herself in the full-length mirror in her bedroom. The midnight-blue asymmetric peplum dress Karen had loaned her hugged her trim figure in all of the right places, with the hemline of the pencil cut skirt hitting just below her knees. Her arms were bare, and a skinny black belt accentuated her tiny waist, matching both her clutch and the silk and lace shawl that draped over her elbows.

Her russet hair had been pulled back and to one side in a low, loose bun, with artfully arranged tendrils escaping near her forehead and sides of her neck. Because her hair was still relatively short, Karen had to rely on an entire arsenal of bobby pins. Her head was in pain, but she felt damn near beautiful. Her mother’s pearls were the perfect touch.

Bob beamed at her from his place on the armchair, leaning forward, and resting his elbows on his knees with his chin in his hands, giving her an exaggeratedly dreamy look as he whistled low. “I am going to be the envy of the party.”

_Hooo boy, you have no idea!_ Joyce thought, smiling nervously at her boyfriend of two months. He stood and closed the distance between them, giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek. Joyce cringed at his touch - a bizarre development. If he noticed, he did not let on.

_I love you, Joyce._ Hopper’s words. If she had to put a finger on what the problem was, that would be it. Goddamn him - always picking the worst times to pour his heart out to her. Like the week before her wedding to Lonnie, or the week he came back to Hawkins, when she was about to divorce Lonnie, although that time probably didn’t count. He was so fucked up for the first six months of his return that it was likely just the liquor and pills talking.

Everything was a stupid mess, and it was all his fault. She couldn’t even appreciate the fact that Bob had gone out of his way to get a nice suit. Anyone else would have thought he looked handsome, but to Joyce he looked like an earnest teen borrowing his dad’s clothes for a night at the sock hop. Still, she accepted his arm and let him open the passenger’s side door of his Dodge Daytona.

_Real quality time enroute to watch my ex-boyfriend get commended for saving my son. My ex who loves me. Just going to watch him get a medal with my stupid boyfriend at my side._ Joyce wished her brain would just fucking stop and let her enjoy one fucking night with her moon-faced schlub of an escort.

**********

Of course Jim’s beard was trimmed and his hair was combed. Of course it looked as though Flo had taken him some place nice to get him something to wear that wasn’t flannels and khakis. She’d probably even made him go to a tailor for once. He looked good in a suit, and in all likelihood smelled like leather and sandalwood. Joyce couldn’t help staring at him as she stood at the entrance of the main hall, watching Jim as he sipped his whiskey and laughed with Callahan and Powell.

“Sweetie, let’s get in so we can get a good table,” Bob whispered, tugging on the crook of her elbow. She turned to him and caught a flash of worry on his round features. She gave him a reassuring smile.

“We’re with one of the guests of honor. They’ve probably reserved one for us.”

Sure enough. Joyce, Bob, Will and Jonathan’s names were all pressed onto cream-colored name cards with gold lettering. Also set to sit at their table: Jim Hopper.

“Shit.”

“What’s that, honey?”

“Nothing, Bob. I’m going to get us some drinks. Flag the boys down if you see them.”

“Oh, I’ll have -”

She didn’t hear his order because she was already halfway to the bar. She stood in front of it, and placed her hands on the smooth, hardwood surface. Both hands were trembling, almost violently, and she could feel the proverbial hummingbird in her tightening chest and throat, prohibiting her breathing. A panic attack. Great.

“Miss?” The bartender, a short, round, balding man was staring at her with concern.

“Water…”

“Are you okay? You’re shaking. Have a seat, I’ll call for help.”

“Oh, please don’t-”

“Hey! Does anyone know this lady? I think there’s something wrong with her.”

Joyce laughed bitterly and sank into the barstool as she tried to regulate her breathing.

“Don’t draw attention…it’s just-”

“Joyce!” And the race between the ex and the current was handily won by Jim Hopper. Bob trailed behind, his face horrified at the sight of her distress. He had never witnessed one of her attacks. Jim, however…

“Hey, I’m here. I need you to breath, Joyce.” A large warm hand stroked her back, as he coached her along. “Breath in, breath out... good. That’s amazing, sweetheart. You’re doing so good.”

“What’s the matter, Joyce?” Bob demanded, squatting in front of her so he was face level. He was too close. She hated people in her face when it got like this. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Newby, I’m gonna have to ask you to step back. You’re crowding her. Everyone needs to take a step back, there is nothing to see here.” Jim’s voice was soft, but laced with steel when he addressed the gathering crowd. She felt him bend low so he could whisper: “I’m going to take you outside so you can get some fresh air, okay?”

Joyce nodded. She despised feeling so helpless, hated having everyone’s eyes on her.

“Joyce?” Bob again.

“She just needs air,” Jim replied, placing one hand on her elbow to help her to her feet.

“I can take her. You’re the guest of honor, friend.”

“Bob...go wait...at the table,” Joyce managed.

The night air felt cool on her face as Jim led her out the back door near the dumpsters. She pressed her back against the cold brick of the building and took several deep breaths. She began to feel her heartbeat slow and her chest and throat loosen.

“I can take you home if you’d rather go home. That’s a big crowd in there.” Jim leaned against the wall at her side, and pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket. Joyce shook her head and held out her hand.

“Gimme.”

“Are you sure?”

“Bob doesn’t like it when I smoke, so I’ve been cutting back. It’s been two days.”

“All the more reason to ask if you’re sure.”

“Give. Me. One. Hop.”

Jim complied, and Joyce mumbled her thanks.

“I’m still mad at you, though,” she announced between puffs.

Jim nodded.

“That’s fair, I guess. I’m still mad at me too.”

“And what you said after you called me crazy. That was inconvenient.”

“But it was true.”

Joyce heaved a heavy sigh and stubbed the cigarette out against the wall.

“Was? Did you change your mind between now and this morning?” A treacherous part of her hoped he hadn’t.

“Are you serious?” He moved to stand in front of her, blocking the cold air with solid, muscular warmth. She looked up and could see his eyes burning down at her. She had always loved his eyes, and the spectacular way they projected exactly what he was thinking. He hadn’t changed his mind. “No, I haven’t changed my mind.” A hand came up to caress her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes dreamily.

“I miss you,” she murmured, knowing that she was damning herself by crossing this line. Bob was so nice, and understanding, and he was going to take Will to Six Flags, and…

“Goddamn you, Joyce.” Her eyes fluttered open in time to feel his lips crashing down on hers in a possessive kiss. She brought her arms around his neck, and returned his fervor tenfold, allowing herself to be lifted and pressed against the wall as they hungrily plundered each other’s mouths. His hands roamed her sides restlessly, clutching at the material of her dress.

Somewhere, between kisses, a deeper need was communicated. Joyce wrapped her legs around his waist, and his hands were on her thighs, pushing the dress higher until it bunched up at her waist. He swore when he realized she was wearing thigh high stockings and a garter belt.

“Fucking wasted on that schmuck,” he breathed. Joyce tried to slap his chest, but was immediately distracted by his fingers slipping under her silk panties, insinuating themselves inside of her wet core. She gasped loudly, and he covered her mouth with his to mask the sound. “Shhh… you’ll bring the entire party out here,” he hissed, pulling away from her swollen lips.

She buried her face against his neck as he commenced his ministrations, biting down as his slick fingers stroked her clit. Soon she was riding his fingers, rocking her hips back and forth in a gentle motion. She lost all track of time, losing herself to his skill.

“People have been looking for you, Jim. They want to start the ceremony.” Joyce’s sex blurred mind registered that her actual boyfriend was standing four feet away, announcing his presence in the midst of her betrayal as one would announce dinner.

Joyce slid down from the wall as Jim slowly parted from her. They both straightened their clothing, unable to look Bob’s way. Joyce was overwhelmed with shame, and she could feel an intense heat coming off of Jim’s body.

“Joyce and I will be along shortly, Jim,” Bob announced when Jim tried to take Joyce’s hand.

“Say, I don’t think that’s the best-”

“Nothing sinister, Chief. A man knows when he’s been beat.”

Joyce looked up at Jim with wide eyes. She gulped and nodded.

“It’s fine, Hop.”

He begrudgingly released her hand as he headed back inside. Joyce finally looked up to make eye contact with Bob. He had a soft, sad smile on his face.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered.

He shushed her, walked over, placed his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her forehead.

“Obviously I’m not processing this just now, but please don’t cry. It’s okay, Joyce.”

Joyce pulled away and shook her head, grimacing. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That’s fine. Give yourself time to figure it out.”

“Okay.”

“But we’re definitely breaking up. I mean… yikes.”

Joyce nodded.

“I trust you can find a ride home?” he asked, a slight tremor breaking his steady tone.

“Yes.”

“Good. Take care of yourself, Joyce.”

“I’m so, so-”

“Don’t say it again. Tomorrow might be another story in terms of how I’m taking this, so let’s agree to not talk for at least a week.”

“Okay.”

She walked back into the banquet hall, alone and slightly disheveled. Will was reciting a sweet speech about gratitude, and Jim was looking back and forth from the stage to Joyce. She sat across from him and hid her face in her hands.

“Mom, where’s Bob?” Jonathan asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“He went home. Can you give me a ride home tonight?” she asked, voice thick with emotion.

Jonathan nodded, his eyes darting over to Jim. His lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes narrowed. Joyce knew her oldest was putting the pieces together.

The rest of the night went by in a blur. Joyce and the boys left shortly after Jim’s commendation, without saying goodbye to the guest of honor. Once safe at home, she threw herself onto her bed, dress and all, weeping until she fell asleep.

She woke a few hours later to a knock at the door. She padded down the hall to the front door and opened it. Of course it was him. He had taken the same amount of care in changing out of his party clothes. They were rumpled and gave off a distinctly boozy scent. She stepped aside and did not pull away when he took her hand. She led him to the bedroom without a word.

_  
_


End file.
